Not Jealous
by A. Windsor
Summary: "She's definitely, certainly, 100% not jealous of the time Nyssa is spending with their beautiful new recruit from Siberia." League era Nyssara.


When she and Sar'ab return from Qatar and a routine killing about an hour ahead of schedule, Sara drops her things off in her monk-like quarters and then sets her sights on Nyssa's more lavish rooms. That bathtub is calling her name. And hopefully Nyssa's, too.

"Is the Heir in?" she asks 'Iiesar, Nyssa's usual door guy, or, rather, girl.

'Iiesar shakes her head. "In the west courtyard, with Ghudir."

Of course she is.

Sara doesn't pout; at least, that's what she tells herself. She's just disappointed her bath plans have been delayed. She's definitely, certainly, 100% not jealous of the time Nyssa is spending with their beautiful new recruit from Siberia.

Not jealous of the easy Russian banter or the one on one instruction.

Nope. Not at all.

"Thanks," Sara remembers to say, but it's a little too late, 'cause 'Iiesar still gives her a funny look.

Sara heads to the west courtyard, the Heir's personal training grounds, with much less enthusiasm than she would have before. When _she_ was the Heir's newest, shiniest recruit.

Nyssa and Ghudir are right where 'Iiesar said they would be.

It's warm in Nanda Parbat this time of year. They're glistening with sweat, bare arms straining in dark tank tops as they trade blows with dull swords. Ghudir hasn't even made it to sharpened blades yet, and in private, Nyssa frets over her slow progress, since her individual students reflect directly upon her.

It seems to be her favorite pillow talk topic recently.

Joy of joys.

Nyssa knocks Ghudir on her back easily, for not the first time today, based on the dust covering the apprentice. As Ghudir struggles to her feet, Nyssa turns her attention to Sara in the doorway.

"Taer al Asfer, A good hunt?" she asks.

It's a little formal, a little distant: not the reunion Sara hoped for, but Ghudir is unaware, as far as Sara knows, that Taer al Asfer shares the Heir's bed, nightly or close to. As far as the rookie knows, Sara is just another, just the most recent, of the Heir's former apprentices.

Once graduated to full-fledged assassins, former students do tend to stay grouped together. They eat and train with their teacher, sleep in quarters close to each other, no longer in the general apprentice dorms. Your teacher was your lineage, and the small group of the Heir's trainees had a revered pedigree, one Nyssa is attempting to make Ghudir worthy of.

Sara is specious. She has been since Nyssa chose the new student from the latest bunch.

"A successful hunt," Sara answers with a nod.

"Very good."

Ghudir has launched another attack, but Nyssa easily knocks her aside, not even taking her eyes off Sara.

"You should make the most of the rest of your travel day," Nyssa tells her.

She had intended to. With Nyssa. Her arms have subconsciously crossed, and Sara attempts to undo that as casually as possible.

"Unless you would rather train with us?"

Train with Nyssa? 100% yes. Train with Nyssa and her new pet project? No, thank you.

"I will take my few hours of rest," Sara declines.

"Very well. We will see you at dinner, then?"

Sara assures her she will and takes her leave with a short bow. Maybe a nap will help ease this super obvious crankiness before she has dinner with Nyssa and her little shadow.

* * *

Sara makes it to dinner in time to sit at Nyssa's left. Ghudir is, of course, at Nyssa's right. Dinner is fine. She does get to talk shop with Sawt al Raed and Mawja, Nyssa's two previous apprentices and the closest thing she has to friends, or at least work friends. Mawja was in Lagos and brought back some great stories. It does marginally improve her mood.

Before the Heir excuses herself, she leans over and asks, very softly:

"You'll come tonight?"

Sara is tempted to say no, given how neglected she's been all day, and really, this month, and it _is_ a request: Nyssa is very careful make sure their personal relationship is one of _choice_.

But she craves Nyssa's attention, and how can she say no to those pretty dark eyes that warm only for her?

She nods, almost imperceptibly, and Nyssa leaves, Ghudir in tow.

"Mawja has put fifty pounds on the new kid washing out," Sawt al Raed says.

"Well, you also bet against me," Sara grins at Mawja. "So anyone who takes that bet is going to make easy money. And I like a challenge."

Mawja grins back at her: "It does seem as if the Heir now believes she can make a passable warrior out of any water-logged waif we find. Personally, I do not think lightning can strike twice."

"Struck the top of the east tower twice last week," Sawt al Raed points out over a mouthful of bread.

Mawja rolls his eyes.

"The Heir does seem to know how to inspire lost little girls to greatness," he says. He gives Sara a look. "So we shall see."

Sara thinks that Mawja and Sawt al Raed at least suspect the full nature of Nyssa and Sara's relationship. They share so much of their lives that it is hard to miss. Their loyalty is first and foremost to the Heir their teacher, however, so the secret is safe.

"Yeah, we'll see," she says. "She's got a long way to go."

"Yes, she requires quite a lot of the Heir's _individual_ attention," Sawt al Raed notes.

Yeah, Sara thinks darkly. Way too "a lot".

* * *

Nyssa's not there when Sara sneaks in to her quarters, and she honestly almost turns right around and sneaks back out.

She waits, though, trying not to linger too long on the parallels the guys had drawn between her and Ghudir.

She knows she is Nyssa's first, Nyssa's only, but there is a tiny part of her that wonders if she is just the beginning of a pattern.

A tiny part that is loud, angry, and pretty convincing when she is left alone to contemplate the intimacy of _her_ training. She and Nyssa had fallen for each other in the long hours together, and eventually, lessons and … extracurricular activities … began to blur together.

Now Ghudir gets those long hours, and Sara is stuck waiting.

Nyssa does eventually return to her quarters, and she smiles softly when she discovers Sara is already there.

"Hello, habibti," she greets, and Sara warms at the endearment. She knows this jealousy is stupid and yet…

"How's the newbie?" Sara finds herself asking. She kicks herself; Ghudir is the last thing she wants to talk about right now.

Nyssa seems surprised by the question, too. As well as the fact that Sara holds herself apart, still on the chaise in the corner, not already in her arms.

"She is fine. Certainly not as far along as I would like. Not nearly as advanced as her predecessor," Nyssa flirts, moving to strip out of her outer robes, studying Sara as she does so.

Sara studies her in return, her annoyance at yet another comparison between her and Ghudir fading with every layer shed. By the time Nyssa is down to thin tank top and tiny, tiny shorts, the annoyance is all but gone. It's replaced by heat, her eyes raking up Nyssa's long legs appreciatively until -

She stands.

"Did Sawt al Raed land a hit on you at morning spar?" she asks, indicating the bruise blossoming on Nyssa's right hip.

"No. Ghudir finally landed a halfway decent blow this afternoon."

Yeah, okay. Sara _hates_ that. _A lot_. She hates the idea of this little upstart marking her Nyssa's skin.

"Habibti?" Nyssa asks. Her voice gets soft. "I sense you are having trouble adjusting to your new role."

Sara makes a face. She really doesn't want to talk right now.

"Or perhaps it is the fact that there is someone new in your former role?"

Dammit, Nyssa.

"I'm fine," Sara argues, even as she crosses purposefully to Nyssa.

"Mhmm."

Sara's eyes remain zeroed in on that bruise, and she becomes consumed with a singular purpose.

She kisses Nyssa, hard, before she has the chance to say anything else. Nyssa is more than happy to return the kiss, but Sara doesn't let her gain her bearings.

She walks Nyssa back to her bed, bending her back over it. Nyssa's breath quickens as Sara's lips move down her neck, drawing a little groan, and her hands trace up and down her rib cage, pausing to take a handful of each breast. Her thumbs brush gently against her nipples through the thin black training tank as her lips get to Nyssa's collar bone, sucking gently. She wants to mark Nyssa, but not here, not where everyone else can see.

"Habibti," Nyssa moans her encouragement.

Sara's fingers find the edge of the shirt, pulling it up and off. She pauses long enough to make heated eye contact before her hands trail down to rest heavily on Nyssa's legs, holding her there as she slowly drops to her knees.

It's been way too long since she got to enjoy a little quality time with her face between Nyssa's thighs. The noises Nyssa allows to escape say she agrees.

She starts with slow, soft kisses down by the inside of her right knee. With each inch she claims northward, her kiss gets just a little more insistent, a little more aggressive. Much to Nyssa's consternation, she veers outward as she gets further up. While Nyssa murmurs increasingly desperate encouragement, Sara comes to the spot just under the bruise. She even gently raises the hem of the shorts so she can get a better view of it. She applies her lips and teeth to the task as Nyssa hisses with the right kind of pain. Before long, another mark blooms under the bruise, darker than the handful of love bites she left below.

Sara grins triumphantly, but that's only the first half of her objective, and Nyssa always taught her to make sure she completed the entire mission.

She finally moves inward again, and Nyssa sighs in relief. Her lips soon find fabric, but she keeps it there, applying her tongue and finding the cloth already wet. She grins against her center, and a groan from above objects to the delay. Her fingers hook in the waist of the shorts; Nyssa happily lifts her hips to help her remove the barrier.

Sara tosses the shorts and slips her hands under Nyssa's hips before she can lower them. She grabs her ass and pulls her down the edge of the bed, before finally, finally applying her tongue exactly where Nyssa wants her to.

She tries to go slowly, but it's a losing battle with Nyssa's hands tugging insistently in her hair, and when Nyssa's legs clamp down, heels finding Sara's back, neither of them is interested in drawing it out any longer.

Nyssa comes undone with Sara's name (both League and given) on her lips, and Sara rides out every second of it, tongue tracing slower and slower until Nyssa pulls her away.

Sara stands, wiping her mouth and enjoying Nyssa's hazy eyes focusing on the gesture. She climbs up, still fully clothed, to join her.

"Not that I do not appreciate your efforts to… mark your territory, habibti," Nyssa says, so deliciously breathless. "You have nothing to worry about. She is merely my student."

"I was merely your student."

Nyssa's eyes darken.

"You were _never_ merely my student."

"So you planned on seducing me from the start?" Sara asks cheekily.

Nyssa almost-growls and then flips Sara onto her back.

Sara's not thinking about _anything_ else that night.

* * *

fin


End file.
